


Lionfang Week 2020

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Angst, Exhibitionism, Fascination, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Huddling For Warmth, Light Tentacles, Lionfang Week, M/M, Opposites Attract, Sounding, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: My prompt fills for Lionfang Week 2020 hosted by the Lionfang discord!Each chapter is rated individually! :)Day 1: Fascination (T)Day 2: Warmth  (G)Day 3 and 4: Heal, Shackled (E)Day 5: Culture (E)Day 6: Difference (G)Day 7: Trust (G)
Relationships: Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 37
Kudos: 44
Collections: Lionfang Prompt Week





	1. Day 1: Fascination (T)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all the cool mods in the Lionfang discord for setting up this event. ♥

Anduin wasn’t expecting anyone else to be at their meeting in the Purple Parlor that day. When he stepped out of the portal and the white columns lining the space began to materialize, however, he found that a fourth place had been set at the table in the center of the room. 

He thought to mention it, but, after paying Genn Greymane a glance, quickly decided against it. The last thing he wanted was for the other king to make a fuss and insist they make for Stormwind before nightfall. 

With a slight bow of his head, Anduin removed his dusty cloak, pulled out the chair beside Genn, and waited for the Archmage to join them. 

It took another ten minutes or so for Khadgar to arrive, but when he did, he appeared silhouetted by a hulking orc with green skin and long white hair: the fourth invitee, Anduin soon realized, as he watched him circle around the table and take the seat opposite of him. Beside him, he could feel Genn bristle. He opened his mouth to cut him off, but Khadgar, perhaps anticipating resistance, waved his hand and explained, “The High Overlord has been recovering in the tower for the last two days. I hope you don’t mind if we all sit down together before we go our separate ways.”

As always, Khadgar spoke with a kind of cheerful finality that made no room for protest. Anduin appreciated that about him. The young king inclined his head first to the Archmage, then to Saurfang, before reaching down for his glass of wine and pressing the rim to his lips.

He took a careful sip, waiting for Genn to do likewise. Though he could feel the tension building between the older man’s shoulders, thankfully the worgen relented. He lifted his glass in a kind of silent—and joyless—toast. 

Across from him, Saurfang nodded, but otherwise stayed silent. Anduin couldn’t help but watch as his white braids swayed against the broad expanse of his chest. 

A bit of heat rose to the young king’s cheeks, but he quickly chalked it up to the wine and turned his focus to the plate of cheese sitting between them.

He reached down and spread a bit of brie onto a slice of baguette. By the time he brought it to his mouth, Genn and Khadgar were deep in conversation. Khadgar asked what they had seen at the Broken Shore earlier that day, and Genn quickly deflected with a broad remark about fel fire. Anduin was grateful for it. The last thing he wanted was to explain in front of the orc how he had fled, tearful, from his own city. 

He already felt unbelievably small in his shadow. His hand looked bony and wan as he reached into the space between them, and he could feel the orc’s keen eyes upon it. He quickly snatched a grape and withdrew, popping it in his mouth before folding his fingers together in his lap beneath the table.

For the first time, Saurfang made a sound—a low, noncommittal grunt that Anduin felt deep in the pit of his chest.

That seemed to get both older humans’ attentions. They paused, and then, when it became clear Saurfang had no intention of continuing, Khadgar waved his hand and explained, “Varok here was shot down by a fel cannon over the Broken Shore, as well. He and I were just discussing our best plan of action as we move into the second phase of the assault. Perhaps the two of you can confer.”

“Ships,” the orc turned and addressed Genn directly, leaving no doubt about whom he expected to answer. Anduin couldn’t help but feel a tinge of relief. He took a small bite of bread, chewed, and listened. 

“Air ships?” Genn prompted. Anduin caught a frown twitching at the corners of the old king’s lips. Saurfang shook his head. 

“The air’s too unpredictable. We should advance by sea and set up a foothold on the beach. Those wretched bats are watching for us in the skies.”

It was the most words Anduin had ever heard the Overlord speak, and he listened to every one of them. He listed to the way Saurfang’s lips curled around his tusks as he formed them. He caught the slight hint of an accent in his otherwise polished Common and found himself hanging onto the sound. Despite the low, gravely pitch in which the orc spoke, he felt he could listen to him speak all day and never tire of it. 

Sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, he lifted his glass and inclined it slightly in Varok Saurfang’s direction. His wine rippled, the purple light of the parlor glimmering across its dark surface. It drew Saurfang’s gaze, and for the first time that evening, he looked Anduin directly in the eye. Anduin froze.

“Yes, Anduin?” Khadgar prompted. It was only then that the king realized he hadn’t spoken his thought aloud. 

Trying not to blush, he turned away from the orc to face Genn, instead. Though he couldn’t see him, he suspected from the way his chair squeaked that Varok had shifted his weight in, as well. The young king cleared his throat and explained: 

“I just wanted to say I concur with the High Overlord’s suggestion. His assessment matches my own, and I think King Greymane and I can agree that the Alliance cannot afford to lose another air ship. There have already been far too many losses in this campaign, on all sides.”

Genn’s expression was the first to visibly change. Anduin watched as his brows rose and the lines around his mouth started to soften. Beyond him, he saw Khadgar’s eyes get a bit wider, and when he turned to sit fully back in his seat, he found Saurfang, too, appraising him with a faint glint in his gold eyes.

Now there was no holding back his blush. It crawled up the nape of his neck and spread to the tips of his ears. Even when he looked back down at the cheese board and pretended to be mulling over his options, he felt the orc’s stare. He felt him watching, studying him. He sensed his heat and the rhythm of his breath as he pondered Anduin in silence.

Genn lifted his napkin to dab his lips. When he spoke again, it was softer and easier than the guarded tone he had taken moments before:

“The Alliance will supply five ships to the assault, if the High King finds it agreeable. We will also dispatch a team of champions and medics at your discretion, Archmage. The Alliance will stand at your side.”

“The Horde, as well.”

“Thank you, High Overlord, your Majesties,” Khadgar smiled, then took a sip of his wine, “The Kirin Tor appreciates your continued support.”

“And we appreciate your leadership in this matter, Archmage,” Anduin’s smile came a bit easier now. He felt lighter, bolder. He chanced another look in Varok Saurfang’s direction and found that his face, too, had softened. Their eyes met. Anduin’s heart fluttered. He quickly dismissed it as wine, or hunger, or some burst of adrenaline that had kicked up in his veins. 

Despite his excuses, however, the feeling lingered far longer than a moment. The young king’s eyes moved from the Overlord’s thick grey hair to his pointed ears, then back to his flashing gold eyes. He found something unreadable there, and he searched it. Saurfang didn’t balk from his stare. 

They watched each other for a moment. Anduin bit his lower lip, and Saurfang’s brows rose.


	2. Day 2: Warmth (G)

A cold wind swept down the hillside and through their camp on the banks of the Southfury River. There was a mean bite to it, a portend of the difficult months to come, perhaps, if any of them lived to see them. 

With a huff, Saurfang pulled his cloak about himself and sat on a stump just beyond the halo of warmth emanating from their campfire. He watched the flames dance and the smoke rise, but he didn’t take in the details. His mind was focused on what daylight might bring. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders slumped forward as he folded his hands together between his thighs. 

For a while, no one attempted to stir him. The younger orcs and trolls gave him a wide berth as they passed around mugs of ale, and even the human champions seemed to speak around him, leaving him to stare, and think, and reflect. Hours passed, and the lick of flames subsided to a smolder in the charcoal. The night grew deeper, and the wind more bitter. 

The older orc pursed his lips and let his eyes slide closed. If he were going to get any sleep that night, he decided, it would be sitting up. Inhaling a few smoky breaths, he brought his mind, finally, to stillness. The seconds started slipping away, but then a small crackle to his left sent him hurling back into the moment.

Snapping open his eyes, he pulled down his hood and turned. A few feet away, he found the young king of the Alliance watching him with his arms hugged tightly to his chest. 

Their eyes met. Anduin slowly lowered his head, his bangs swishing about his face. 

“Ah, sorry, High Overlord. I didn’t realize you were asleep. I can return to my tent if you would prefer. I just thought, well—”

Whatever explanation Anduin had thought to give died on his lips as another gust swept through the camp. Bolting upright, the king shivered. His shoulders rose to his ears, and his brows drew together into the briefest of grimaces. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but the glimmer of vulnerability stayed with Saurfang. It was so rare to see the king looking anything but poised.

The orc felt his own jaw unclench and shifted into what he hoped was a more welcoming posture. “There is room by the fire,” he pointed out. “If you have something you wish to say, your Majesty, come over here and say it.”

That seemed to be all the invitation the young king needed. He nodded, and the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. He took a few steps closer, and then, after glancing from Saurfang to the embers, he seemed to settle on a place somewhere between them. Saurfang’s brows arched as he watched him lower himself to the earth between his knees. For a moment, he wondered if he should offer the boy his stump, but then Anduin leaned back, seemingly at ease, until his blond hair spilled into the Overlord’s lap. 

Saurfang’s eyes widened slightly at the king’s boldness, but he made no move to stop him. Instead, he leaned forward and adjusted his cloak so it was draped around the two of them. The back of Anduin’s head pressed against his lower abdomen, and when he turned to speak, his cheek rested against the inside of Saurfang’s leather-clad thigh. He murmured, “I never would have guessed it could get so cold here. It’s nearly as harsh as Stormwind this time of year.”

“Kalimdor is a strange place,” Saurfang admitted. Concealed by his cloak, his hand grew somewhat bolder. He reached down and toyed with a silky strand of blond hair, then brought his palm to rest against the curve of the man’s slender shoulder. Anduin murmured slightly, and Saurfang went on to explain:

“The days are unbearable. Dry. Sweltering, but all that warmth dies at nightfall. We have to build fires like this and sleep close if we want to get any sleep at all.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d be getting much sleep tonight even if it were warmer,” the king pointed out with a slight chuckle. As always, Saurfang was impressed by his honesty, and the way he managed to keep smiling even when faced with a difficult truth. 

The orc nodded and gave the human’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, rubbing at the nape of his neck with the pad of his thumb. “You and many others in this camp, I imagine. That’s how it is on the eve of battle.”

“But not you,” Anduin suggested. Turning slightly, the king looked up. His blue eyes sparkled, catching the last vestiges of light from the dying fire. “You were asleep, weren’t you?”

“Barely, but yes,” Saurfang nodded again, withdrawing his hand from Anduin’s back to use it, instead, to readjust his cloak. Once the cloth was wrapped fully around them, he went on to explain, “I’ll sleep tonight. I’ve made up my mind and made peace with it. I’ve lost enough sleep in the last few months to last me the rest of my life, however long that might be.”

A flicker of something passed over the king’s face. It was grief, but it wasn’t anguish; it was concern, but not fear. His lips drew into a line, and when he inhaled, his shoulders rose, then fell. It was a look Saurfang knew too well—the face of someone who had known loss, and who had resigned himself to it. He had never expected to see it in someone so young, however, nor in Anduin, who seemed to light up every room he entered.

‘How many deaths has Anduin suffered?’ Saurfang couldn’t help but wonder, ‘How many heartbreaks?’ He knew better than to ask. He just studied him, watching as Anduin shifted once more. Suddenly, he felt a slender arm wrap around his thigh and the king’s cheek rub against the top of his leg. He would have liked to keep studying him, but he didn’t dare pull back the cloak that was now draped over his head.

Instead, he brought a hand to the side of his face, then slid his fingers through his wispy hair, brushing it away from the shell of his ear, then gently twisting it around the tip of his thumb. 

He couldn't tell if Anduin eventually passed into sleep, but he hoped he did. At some point, he felt his lips press against his leg, then felt him murmur something inaudible. Saurfang continued to stroke his hair until the fire died, then closed his eyes, leaned forward, and slipped into the warmth of the other man’s careful embrace.


	3. Days 3 and 4: Heal, Shackled (E)

Anduin wrinkled his nose as he stepped off the stairs and into the lowest level of the Stormwind stockades. The smell of mud and stagnant water was overpowering, lingering on the tip of his tongue like a curse. He steeled himself—doing his best to neutralize his expression—and pushed forward. Every guard he passed bowed their heads; the clang of their armor echoed off every wall.

Rounding a bend, he set off down a smaller tunnel branching out from the first. It was a path he had become all too familiar with these past few days. He could have sworn his own boots were the ones that had beat out the trail he now followed, though he knew, had he not ordered the tunnel be emptied for his visit, it would have been paced by twenty soldiers or more.

At the end of the tunnel, there was a door, and behind the door, a few strips of light sneaking in through a grate in the ceiling. The air here wasn’t quite as stagnant; he had made sure of that, as well, determined to afford this prisoner whatever small comfort the Stormwind Guard would permit him. 

It was a modest gesture, but, he hoped, an appreciated one. Clearing his throat, the young king waited until the figure on the far side of the room lifted his head. Finally, he saw a pair of slumped shoulders draw back, and a grey head lift until the motes of sunlight caught in his gold-brown eyes. Satisfied, Anduin turned a key in the lock and pressed open the iron gate, then turned to pull it back closed behind them.

For a moment, Saurfang said nothing. The only sound Anduin heard from his direction was the jangle of chains shifting between his bound wrists. 

The king took a few steps forward, stopping just short of the bed he knew the orc hadn’t yet had the chance to use. He lingered until Saurfang huffed and the low growl of his voice rumbled in the space between them:

“I have nothing more to say.”

At the sound, Anduin was ready to jump in, speaking as if he hadn’t understood the words: “We want to know how many orcs and trolls support Sylvanas’ attack on Teldrassil. It’s to your benefit—and your people’s—to tell us the truth.”

“What does it matter if ten or one hundred orcs fight by her side? She sits on the Warchief's throne. Honor is dead while she leads.”

“Then reclaim it. You’ve done it before, High Overlord. I was there the day you helped take down Garrosh. I know how many of your people would rather not serve a tyrant.”

“But many of them would,” the orc all but spat. Anduin stood up a bit straighter as he heard the rattle of chains once more and watched the orc unfold and rise. A breath caught in the young king’s throat. He would never stop being taken aback by the sheer size of him, nor the way he carried himself even while manacles kept him locked to the wall. 

Swallowing, Anduin took another step forward. His heart pounded in his throat, and his bottom lip trembled as he stepped into the orc’s massive shadow. “And many of my people would see you hanging from the gallows, but you are here by the grace of those who know better. I know it’s the same with orcs.”

Saurfang’s face contorted, his brows drawing together. His shoulders rose as he growled once more, and for a single, blessed moment Anduin thought he had finally broken through. Then, to his dismay, the orc snarled, and spat out another joyless reply: “The rope would snap, anyway.”

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t stop himself from shooting back. He looked up and regarded Saurfang with widened eyes, staring first at his ash-stained cheeks, then at his tusks, jutted forward by his clenched jaw. He half-wished the old orc was _joking,_ though he knew he wasn’t. This wasn’t Garrosh, and they weren’t bandying insults like some kind of game. 

There was no malice in Saurfang’s eyes—only despair. Swallowing, Anduin tried again, choosing his words more carefully and trying his best to pour the Light into every one of them. “I wasn’t talking about logistics. I was talking about mercy. I don’t want to see you hurt, and I don’t want to see any of your people suffer if they don’t need to. You have the power to ensure they don’t, High Overlord. If you work with us, we can remove Sylvanas and restore the Horde to its former glory.”

“Hmph, glory,” Saurfang muttered. Any calm Anduin had briefly found started to slip away. In its place, he felt his frustration rising. Regarding the orc with what he hoped to be a neutral look, he waited, letting him finish, but digging his heels into the dirt in anticipatory resistance. 

Saurfang stared at him for a moment, then looked to his left. His braids swung and his chains jangled with the sudden, violent jerk of a movement. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to shake the very air that surrounded them. 

“Do you know how the Horde was born? Do you know what my warlord did when he seized control of the clans?”

Anduin did know, or, at least, partially knew, but he neither nodded nor shook his head. He instead remained motionless and silent, letting the orc say his piece. 

“We slaughtered the draenei—men, women, children, we didn’t care. How many more children will die at the hands of the Horde until it finally falls?”

“Your son died defending Azeroth,” Anduin pointed out. His voice sounded small beneath Saurfang’s, but it still drew the orc’s gaze. He regarded him, teeth clenched, eyes stormy, but Anduin didn’t back down. He continued, quiet, but even, “He died fighting beside the man who raised me. If Bolvar trusted his life to a Saurfang, then so do I.”

“My son was a better orc than I could hope to be.”

“And what about your brother?” Anduin quipped, ready, this time, to counter the interruption. “We’ve all heard the songs about him, and how he protected the kaldorei. If even Tyrande put her trust in Broxigar, then why shouldn’t we put our trust for justice in you?”

“Because I failed. I failed. I knew what the Banshee was doing, and I did nothing but follow like a tired, old dog.”

“You didn’t kill the Archdruid,” Anduin contended. He didn’t realize he had moved closer until he felt the orc’s heat warming the space between them. Now that he had taken the steps he had no intention of backing away. 

Instead, he reached out and brought his palm to rest against the orc’s large, bound hands. At the touch, he felt Saurfang tense, but at least he didn’t jerk back. Anduin drew in a breath, and whispered, “You could have killed Malfurion, but you didn’t.”

“He was wounded. There would have been no honor in it,” Saurfang tried to protest, but his voice had lost some of its bite.

Emboldened, Anduin ran his fingers from the orc’s thumb to the curve of his wrist, dipping them beneath the manacles. It was only then that he realized the skin beneath was broken and chafed. Without thinking, he summoned the Light to his hand and let it warm the orc’s injured flesh.

This drew a small grunt from Saurfang’s lips, but for a moment, at least, Anduin didn’t acknowledge it. He instead focused on mending the wound, then drawing the Light over Saurfang’s shackles and up to his elbow joint. He massaged away the soreness he sensed there, then looked up into Saurfang’s face with furrowed brows. 

The orc stared at him for a moment, and then muttered, quieter than the king would have ever thought possible: “What are you doing?”

“Showing you the Light’s grace,” Anduin whispered back automatically. He didn’t stop to think how his words might be perceived. 

“I don’t need your healing.” 

“But I’m giving it, anyway.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves to be safe and whole. This isn’t some honor you have to win.”

“This isn’t going to change mind.”

“Then it doesn’t,” Anduin fought back a sigh, pressing his lips together and staring up into the orc’s face. The glow from his hand didn’t quite reach Varok’s eyes, making it difficult to read his expression, but he persisted, nevertheless. “But the least you can do is try to open your mind to it. Sometimes the Light shows us things that our eyes can’t see.” 

“I—”

“Please,” Anduin looked up, and persisted, “Please try to close your eyes and relax.” 

Much to Anduin’s surprise, Saurfang put his last objection to rest. Pursing his lower lip around his tusks, he leaned back. He paid Anduin one last look, then settled in with the back of his head against the wall and his eyes fixed on the slivers of sunlight in the middle of the cell. 

More determined than ever, Anduin furrowed his brow and set back to work on the healing. He ran his palm once, then twice, then once more over the orc’s tired joint, sending tendrils of Light down beneath his skin to soothe it. He then moved up to work on his shoulder, straining up on his toes to reach.

After that, he moved his hand over his muscular chest, settling for a moment above his beating heart. Once again, he called to the Light, letting it blossom between his fingers and spread down under the orc’s linen tunic and into his sweat-soaked skin. He massaged, and focused, and held his breath in hopes he’d find every burden the orc bore and draw it out. Letting his eyes slide closed, he prayed, and listened: to Varok’s breath, his thoughts, his feelings.

The king let his hand travel lower, over Saurfang’s abdomen, then off to the right to rest against the line of the orc’s thick waist. It was only then that he realized Saurfang was speaking: rumbling low in his chest, an apprehensive, but not wholly resistant: “What are you doing?”

“Helping you relax,” Anduin explained, and then added, gentle, but serious, “Showing you the Light’s warmth.”

“I’ve never known healers to touch their patients like this.”

“Yes, well,” Anduin admitted, meeker than he had intended. His face suddenly felt a bit hotter. “I’ve never had a patient quite like you, either.” Looking up once more, he found that Saurfang still averted his gaze. Somehow that made him feel even more embarrassed than if their eyes had met. 

It was difficult to allow himself to do it, but after a few more moments, he finally let himself really _look_ at Saurfang. He didn’t see his prison rags or pain that forever lined his face, but rather the strength of his stance and the shine of his wiry white hair. The king’s chest grew tighter, and his breath uneven. He couldn’t help but wonder when his trust and desperation had first swept him up in what he could only describe as a wave of desire. 

He let his hand slide from Saurfang’s waist back to his abdomen. The ball of Light in his hand grew stronger and its glow brighter with the burgeoning of his emotions. Flexing his fingers, he massaged, each time slipping his palm further down his abdomen. When he reached the top of the orc’s drawstring pants, he looked back up; this time, their stares locked. Saurfang’s braids swung forward as he leaned closer to watch him. 

Anduin opened his mouth to say… _something_ , though by the Light he didn’t know what it would be. Thankfully, he didn’t need to try. Saurfang cut him off, rumbling, “Well?”

“Okay?” Anduin whispered. Saurfang nodded. 

The king managed a tentative smile in reply, then held his breath and let his Light-soaked palm slide down to rest against the tent in the orc’s linen pants. 

Saurfang’s cock twitched up into his touch. Anduin had never felt something quite so thick or so insistent as the shaft swelling under the brush of fingers. 

With that, he gave him a squeeze, and felt Saurfang’s breath catch in his throat. Tracing over the bulge a few times, he then moved his hand under his shirt and pressed it against his bare skin. His fingertips slid through the orc’s thick hair, downwards, into his pants and to the base of his now-rigid cock. 

Wrapping his fingers around it, then easing it out into the space between them, Anduin admired it. He watched as the Light played upon his flushed skin, watched as Saurfang shuddered because of him and the heat and spark of the Light he had summoned. 

The young king bit his lower lip, drew in a breath, and then stroked until he pressed the orc’s foreskin over, then back from his head. The Light licked at the wetness he found there. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the slit and teased, marveling at how the opening yielded to the tip of his finger.

Saurfang’s cock was so thick he could have likely fit the digit inside of it. He settled instead for sending down a tendril of Light, letting it curl and writhe inside him. Meanwhile, his palm tried its best to accommodate his girth. The golden glow he created made up for the rest, surrounding him without and within, pressing and probing him from his base to his head.

Saurfang’s knees buckled. Anduin looked up and smiled. The orc now held his shackled hands up to his chest and rested his chin upon them. He watched Anduin with curiosity, a touch of shame, but most of all an undeniable need that pushed him to surrender to the young man’s touch. 

Anduin felt powerful. He worked faster, emboldened by the rattling of his chains and the way his shoulders tightened and clenched against the stone wall behind him. 

With every stroke, the Light issuing from Anduin’s hand drew stronger, and Saurfang’s body arched out further to meet his touch. A halo spread and surrounded them. The orc’s breath hitched, and with a jolt he came through the Light tendril and out in a splatter across Anduin’s tunic. His chest heaved, and then, with a gasp, the orc slumped back against the wall. 

The golden glow from Anduin’s fingers poured forth, down into the depths of his body and out into every limb. Soon, he relaxed, lowered his shackled arms, and let out a contented moan. 

The young king took a step back. His own pants felt tight and his steps uneasy, but he didn’t dare press the orc for reciprocation. Instead, he staggered to stand beside the bed. He tried his best to wipe the cum from his shirt, but to no avail. His cheeks burned, but when their eyes met, the old orc lowered his head. He seemed to still be glowing, even in the shadowy corner of his cell.

“I’ll…be back tomorrow,” Anduin managed, before folding his hands in arms in front of himself and regarding the orc with one last longing look. “Please think on what I’ve said, and until then…Light be with you.”

He didn’t wait to catch Saurfang’s reaction. There was too much up in the air. He just spun on his heels and exited the cell. He walked without looking back, though he could feel Saurfang’s gold-brown eyes upon him until he rounded the bend and disappeared into the darkness out of his view.


	4. Day Five: Culture (E)

Anduin had always heard orcs were more open about sexuality than his own people, but he hadn’t quite expected it to be like this. For once, he was grateful to have his face pressed down into a pelt. At least like this, with his legs spread and his ass up in the air, no one could see him blush.

His mate didn’t seem at all put off by the publicness of the display. On the contrary, Saurfang growled, nipping the nape of his neck and nuzzling his beaded hair. His braids slid to either side of Anduin’s face and the ends tickled his cheeks. The flower Varok had tucked behind his ear hours before fell forward, its white petals splaying in all directions against the dirt off to his left.

Anduin thought to reach his hand out to retrieve it but found it pinned beneath the weight of the orc’s massive forearm. Instead, he settled on curling his fingers, gripping at the coarse fur of their pelt and gasping as Saurfang rocked forward and sank down into his body. 

Squeezing closed his eyes, Anduin felt himself stretched wider than he had once thought possible. As always, he sent the Light down to soothe his tightness and pain. This time, however, he was keenly aware of the glow of his spell against the small of his back. He didn’t need to glance up to know it had drawn a glance or two. Unlike the brazier crackling in the middle of the room, the light he summoned was a pure, unmistakable gold. 

He couldn’t do without it, though. Not with Saurfang stretching him open. Biting his lower lip, he focused on his healing and tried not to think about the blush now spreading from his face to his neck, from the tip of his ears to the slope of his shoulders. 

Behind him, Varok growled in approval. His strong arms wrapped around Anduin’s own lithe torso. Anduin felt as if he were being surrounded completely, and, whether Saurfang was trying to protect his modesty or not, he was grateful for it. 

Turning his head and resting a cheek against the fur, Anduin used the slight change of position to work is hand free. He brought it up to reach for Saurfang’s wrist. Their fingers laced together. The orc gave him a squeeze and then, rolling his hips and nuzzling his tusk against the curve of Anduin’s ear, murmured in a low, gravelly voice, a gentle acknowledgement in the human’s own tongue that made him melt into his embrace: 

“Is this okay for you?”

The young king nodded, his beaded hair swaying about his face. Varok shifted his hips, drawing a gasp, unbidden, from Anduin’s lips.

“Good,” Varok murmured, again speaking in Common, “I know this isn’t what you are used to.”

“N-no,” Anduin admitted. He tried his best to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to draw more attention from the rest of the room than they already had. He caught the eye of a nearby troll puffing out clouds of smoke, and a bit to his left he saw Geya’rah rubbing her hand between a pair of splayed legs that must have belonged to a blood elf woman. Anduin had to fight back another blush.

He gripped Varok’s hand a bit harder and moaned as he felt the orc’s cock slide out to the tip, and then down into his ass up to the hilt. The thick hair at the base of Saurfang’s shaft tickled the cleft between his cheeks, and his balls pressed firmly against Anduin’s own flushed skin. Unable to bite back the cry this time, Anduin squeaked and dug his toes into their pelt. 

His mate thrust into him once more, and then Anduin whispered, even lower and more strained than he had before, “I want them to know we are mates, and if this is the way…”

Behind him, he could feel Saurfang nodding. His necklace dragged between Anduin’s shoulder blades and his thick lower lip pressed firm against the base of his neck.

Saurfang growled. Anduin whimpered. The orc’s massive cock dragged against his inner wall, making him tighten and leak onto their mat. Clutching desperately at the orc’s large hand, he squeezed close his eyes and focused on the tightness building inside him. 

Despite the weight of the orc bearing down on him, he managed to squirm, finding a bit of friction to soothe the ache between his legs. Biting his lower lip, he shuddered. Heat pooled beneath his legs. Saurfang thrust, and his growls grew louder, echoing off every wall of the Hold and drawing the gaze of even the politest—or most distracted—of the High Overlord’s subjects. 

Anduin might have quelled beneath their curious stares, but his own need was making him bold. Instead, he pressed back into every thrust. His nails dug into Saurfang’s hand and he clenched around him. Inside him, he felt the orc’s cock throb, then spill its seed in a burst he felt against the bulge in his abdomen.

Burying his face and gasping, he gave in. His high voice rose to join Saurfang’s as he let his mate drive him forward into his own release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh...I tried to make this one inclusive for people with trans or cis headcanons for Anduin. I hope it came across that way and wasn't confusing. Thank you for reading!! <3


	5. Day Six: Difference (G)

Saurfang had never felt so stiff in his life. With his arms locked at his sides and the heavy linen jacket he wore pulled tight around his midsection, every movement came with a degree of difficulty. He had to think before bending down to pick up his shoes, and once he got them into his hands he had to lean against the corner of Anduin’s bed to bring up one leg, then the other, to shove his feet into them.

The leather boots, too, proved stiff and unyielding. He grimaced as his thick toes jammed inward. When he rose, he had to shake loose his tailored pants. Sucking in his belly, he stood like one of the toy soldiers he knew human children asked for on Winter Veil. 

Part of him longed for the bitter cold in which those figures usually found themselves, rather than the damp, wet heat of a Stormwind summer he contended with now. Suddenly aware of a bead of sweat rolling down the left side of his face, he hastily wiped it away. He straightened, glancing down at the king’s canopy bed, and then lifting his gaze towards a latched window on the opposite side of the circular chamber. Maybe if he pulled it open, he thought, he at least could catch a breeze, no matter how warm it proved to be.

Making up his mind, he took a few steps forward, then rounded the front of the bed. Just as he turned, however, the bathroom door squeaked open. Anduin emerged, clad in a tailored white-and-gold tunic and a pair of straight blue pants that made his legs look long and lean.

The king flashed a dazzling smile. Saurfang felt a breath catch in his throat. As the human stepped closer, he realized that his golden hair still bore the braids he had twisted them into the night before, only now they were pulled into a bun at the back of his head. A few wisps sneaked free and framed his face, but he wore them like a delicate crown.

He looked radiant, and he moved with a grace and poise Saurfang couldn’t fathom in their tight linen garments. There was an ease about him, a stark contrast to the orc’s own inflexible stance. 

Saurfang watched as Anduin stepped across the room and came to stand before him with a grin still lighting his features. When their eyes met, the young king’s smile got even wider. His cheeks glowed. He tilted his head to the side. Saurfang soon realized that the man’s large blue eyes were inspecting him from head to toe. 

“You look great!” Anduin proclaimed.

From anyone else, Saurfang might have mistaken those words as a taunt. But the way Anduin spoke was far too earnest to be anything but sincere. Saurfang shifted his weight and tried to relax his shoulders. 

He only achieved marginal success at it, but Anduin seemed undeterred. The human reached out, pressed a hand to Saurfang’s chest, then stepped to his side to loop their elbows together. He led them over to a gold framed mirror by his dresser, chatting as they came to stand before it:

“The tailors really outdid themselves this time, I think. Look how our suits complement one another. It will be easy for everyone to tell you are with me. I mean, if they haven’t heard about our time in Orgrimmar already, of course, which I'm sure they have.”

Anduin chuckled softly at that last admission. Normally, Saurfang would have taken to watching the blush that spread across his cheeks as he said it, but right now he was too interested in the men reflected back at him in the mirror.

On the left, he saw himself: tall, uneasy in this unfamiliar blue garment with gold lions embroidered around the seams. His face was etched with concern and the deep lines that betrayed his age. Beside him, however, Anduin looked like a dream, all gold tresses and pale skin and lips the color of a rose bud. He was a blossom against Saurfang’s knotted trunk of a frame. 

Saurfang didn’t know what to make of it. He pursed his lips taut around his tusks, wondering why—and how—the young king had taken an interest in someone like him. His jaw clenched. His gold eyes darted between them. A low murmur rose in his throat, but before he could speak his concerns Anduin unlooped their arms and brought his small hand to rest, instead, against the slope of Saurfang’s shoulder. 

“This blue looks nice on you, and I promise, I’m not just saying that because I’m happy you’ve come to stay in my city,” Anduin beamed. His fingers smoothed out Saurfang’s collar, then reached up to toy with his thick, grey braid. “It makes your hair look like silver. I hope you won’t be too hot in it, though. They couldn’t have chosen a more humid day for a feast.”

“I’ll be fine,” Saurfang answered automatically. In truth, given the sweat prickling at the nape of his neck, he already had his doubts, but with Anduin smiling up at him, it was difficult not to assure him. He punctuated his words with a nod, and with that, Anduin slid his hand back down his arm and into the crook of his elbow.

He rested his cheek against the orc’s bicep, then turned, and nuzzled his face against the linen of his coat. He breathed in. At the sound, Saurfang, too, started to relax. Entangled was they were, their contrasts started to look like complementing threads in a tapestry. It was odd, but somehow it felt right.


	6. Day Seven: Trust (G)

Anduin tried his best to stay upright, but it was hard to maintain his grip on the saddle-less creature beneath him. He knew reaching for the wolf’s fur would earn him a snarl at best and a bite at worst, so he focused, instead, on sucking in a breath and tightening his core.

His spine went rigid. His shoulders ached. He bit down on his lower lip and cast his gaze on the metal fence surrounding the pen in which he rode, hoping the unwavering iron spikes would calm his stomach, settle his mind, and ease him into the rhythm of the lupine’s strides. 

“Ya okay there, Anduin? Ya lookin’ as green as ya mate,” a voice to his left drew Anduin’s attention, just as a mass of blue and pink whizzed by his side. He knew it to belong to his friend Zekhan and knew that he rode with ease around the pen atop his fluorescent raptor. He also knew that the young troll wasn’t trying to tease, and, in turn, he swallowed and tried his best to cling to his own good humor. 

“Ah, I’m fine…I think,” he called back, but just then the wolf whipped to the right and almost sent Anduin flying into the mud. He didn’t realize he’d grabbed his scruff until the wolf howled, and his haste to release his hold once again threatened to topple him—this time to the wolf's hind legs and off over his swinging tail.

Tightening his thighs was the only thing that kept that from happening. It didn’t, however, stop his stomach from lurching and the blood from draining from his cheeks. It was no wonder Zekhan sounded so concerned about his wellbeing.

Just as he furrowed his brow and sent a desperate prayer to the Light, he heard the thud of paws approaching him on his right. He didn’t need to steal a glance to know that the rider beside him was his mate; he could feel it in his skilled posture and the depth of the shadow he cast over Anduin’s face. 

Slowly, Anduin forced out the exhale that had caught in the back of his throat and addressed him, as evenly as he could manage, “I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. With just a bit more practice…”

“It isn’t about practice,” Saurfang corrected him, “It’s all in how you carry yourself.” 

Anduin could feel his mate’s eyes watching, and again sucked in his core and forced his body to steady. They made another circle before Varok spoke again. This time, there was a rare smile in his voice that Anduin couldn’t help but savor. “I think I know what the problem is,” the orc suggested. 

Anduin wanted to look at him, but his anxious mind kept his eyes fixed on the fence. “Oh?” He replied, quietly, but with what he hoped was a natural gest. “And what is that, my mate?” 

Saurfang rumbled; Anduin couldn’t say for certain, but he suspected the orc had let out a laugh. He tried his best to smile in kind, but as his stomach roiled, he found his teeth clenching when he parted his lips. 

The thudding beside him stopped, and Anduin, too, tried to bring his wolf to a halt by tightening his thighs around the creature’s midsection. He achieved some success, but not without skidding and flying forward until his face smashed against the fur at the back of his mount's head. The bone necklaces around Anduin’s neck rattled and swayed. He scrambled to right himself, tucking his loose blond hair behind his ears and offering his mate a sheepish smile.

Saurfang watched him, lazily patting his own wolf between the ears. After Anduin had regained some of his composure, he explained in a low voice, “You’re treating your wolf like a horse. I can see you looking for the reins. Remember, your wolf won’t go anywhere it doesn’t want to go. You must trust it and steer gently with your legs. Look.”

Varok leaned to the side, and with that his grey wolf turned in a circle. Their bodies moved as if they were one. Swallowing, the human glanced from his mate’s face to the wolf’s panting maw, and then down to his own mount, rigid and agitated between his tight knees. 

With that, the young king sucked in a breath. He reached forward and, with all the serenity he could muster, ran his finger’s through the creature’s fur. This earned him a growl of approval. Somewhere behind him, he heard Zekhan let out an approving ‘whoop.’ 

When Anduin righted himself again, he willed his body to straighten, but not go rigid. He folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. He swayed forward slightly, and then they were off. The wolf beneath him soon matched the trot of his mate’s mount walking beside them. 

Anduin focused on every breath he drew and on the way the wolf’s body clenched, then relaxed with every step he took. There was a grace in it, a sureness quite different than Reverence’s attentive steadfastness. It took a moment to get used to, but after a few silent prayers and reminders to keep his shoulders relaxed, Anduin yielded to the rhythm of it. 

He rose, then settled on the beast’s massive back. On that cue, they took off, no longer trotting, but running around the inner edge of the pen. The human kept his eyes shut for a few more moments, but when he finally opened them, he found Saurfang riding beside him with a rare, toothy smile spreading across his face.

Anduin felt his face flush, but he returned the grin. His body swayed forward, then back, and his mate matched his movements. It took a few moments, but finally Anduin felt his breathing settle to normal and listened, instead, to the gentle beat of eight paws moving together against the red Durotar sand.


End file.
